The Dead of Night
by Eponymous
Summary: One year after his failure to rescue Ifurita, something comes for Makoto in the night...


The Dead of Night  
by Eponymous  
  
Makoto could still feel the heat of the fire against his skin.  
  
He remembered he'd been returning to the palace with Nanami and...   
Afura, he thought it was. The details were fuzzy in his mind. He   
could no longer remember where they were coming from that evening,   
and had no real desire to ask anyone.  
  
What he did remember was he'd been talking with them, and noticed a   
faint heat from the distance. Then he'd turned and seen the glow   
from the palace grounds. As they'd moved closer, the guards spotted   
them. One of them - Makoto remembered he had a moustache - told them   
there'd been an explosion in one of the private residences, and they   
were trying to put out the ensuing blaze.  
  
He remembered wind against his skin as he ran. The light came into   
view in the distance. The surrounding grounds became familiar, too   
familiar. He ran faster, hoping they'd change, hoping he was seeing   
things wrong in the blinding bright light of the fire that encompassed   
his home. He was sure he would have kept running right inside if one   
of the guards around it hadn't caught him and held him back.  
  
They kept the fire from spreading, put it out in time to save the   
palace. They hadn't been trying to sacrifice the structure, even   
before Princess Rune told them there were important artifacts and   
documents in there. But even with Shayla to help them stop it, kill it   
quickly, it was already too late. The damage was done.  
  
Where Makoto's home had been there was little left but burnt and   
smoldering rubble. A few destroyed scraps of the objects that had been   
inside. It was a lucky thing no one was in there, they said, the   
explosion would've taken them apart the same way.  
  
It had turned out to be an attack on the palace by the Bugrom or the   
Phantom Tribe or somebody. It didn't matter. What mattered was the   
charred rust that came off in his hands as he clutched the blackened,   
twisted piece of metal that had once been Ifurita's key. The sulfur   
smell of ancient texts that once hid inside them somewhere the secrets   
of the Eye of God, now so much ash and melted glue. The dead feeling   
in his mind when he touched components of the Eye of God he'd removed   
for study, destroyed and irreplaceable.  
  
The staff was gone. The Eye was useless. The hundreds of years of   
research that lead to its creation were erased.  
  
He'd never get her back now.  
  
In his mind, he could see it, clear as day. She would send him back,   
expend nearly all of the precious life within her, and then claw her   
way up, out of the tomb. She'd spent so long in one of those, she   
wouldn't want to remain. He knew he hated their cold walls, their   
hollow echoes. She'd have to leave.  
  
She'd make her way through the school, taking in its difference from   
the world she'd lived in. He knew she thrived on that, on every   
strange new surface, on the tiles of the floor against her feet, on the   
clear glass of a window, on the intertwined mesh of a fence outside.  
  
She'd spend so much of her energy just moving about, waiting for him.   
Because she would know he was coming, she'd know he'd make good on his   
promise. She would throw away whole days worth of energy just walking   
outside to wait for him, reducing her life to mere hours. Perhaps   
she'd live to see a sunrise.  
  
And then she'd wind down and die in the morning light.  
  
His friends had come to him in his grief, told him what they thought he   
needed to hear. Sensei, Nanami, Shayla, Afura, Alielle, everybody.   
  
It wasn't your fault, they told him. He knew that.   
  
You couldn't have done anything if you were there, they said. That was   
true.  
  
You would have just died, they reminded him. A good point.  
  
Then finally: You have to move on with your life. You can't mourn   
forever. You can't let this be the end. You have to go on.  
  
It's what she would've wanted.  
  
But what about what *Makoto* wanted? What about everything he'd been   
dreaming of, everything he'd seen burnt and twisted and wrecked? He   
was never going to get what he wanted, what he *needed*, now, and he   
never would.  
  
Makoto wished he'd died in that fire. It seemed to him his entire life   
had been leading up to that one week years ago when he'd come to El-  
Hazard and met Ifurita. That everything after that was about  
continuing the life he'd started then, the life with her. Now that   
life was over. Forever. He didn't want another one.  
  
He wasn't going to kill himself. He didn't have it in him; he'd never   
had it in him. For a while he'd hoped someone might do it for him, but   
no. Security was tight. Those responsible for the attack had been   
subdued. A message had been sent. And the last time he'd seen Jinnai,   
his old friend told him he wasn't a worthy rival anymore. He just   
wasn't trying, Jinnai said. Makoto had apologized, but Jinnai didn't   
care.  
  
So he just went on. He wrote up studies for the royal court, helped   
Nanami with her restaurant, looked after Miz and Mr. Fujisawa's baby,   
smiled and talked and laughed. Mimicked all the things he remembered   
he used to do, all the while not caring inside, just not caring at all.  
  
Faked his life.  
  
Qawool. She was the one who had finally reached him. She'd sensed   
there was something wrong, no matter how much he'd pretended otherwise.   
She'd reached out to him, refusing to let him go on like this.   
Refusing to let him cut himself off from those who cared about him.   
Helped him through the awful numbness, reminded him...  
  
He loved Qawool. He truly did. She'd reminded him of who he was.   
Reminded him of how much he loved his friends, how much he wanted to   
help those around him, how much he cared. For teaching him to feel   
again, he counted her as among those most precious to him.   
  
But the time would come, soon, when he'd have to tell her he didn't   
love her in the way she did him. That no matter how hard he tried, he   
couldn't. That he knew now he was never going to love *anyone* that   
way again. That there was and would always be a missing part within   
him that couldn't be replaced.  
  
They lay in their bed together, late at night or early in the morning.   
Home was another palace dwelling, just like his last in most all   
respects. All they needed, really. Nothing extraneous.   
  
Her head was against his shoulder. He ran his hand listlessly through   
her hair. He couldn't even tell if she was awake or asleep. He stared   
up at the smooth ceiling and found himself wishing it had holes to   
count.  
  
It would have to be very soon, indeed.  
  
"I'm so sorry..." he thought aloud.  
  
The head against his shoulder turned, and her light blue eyes met his.   
There was no sadness there, only understanding. "I know."  
  
Something stung at the base of his eyes. She reached up and wiped her   
fingers against them, a wetness spreading across his cheeks. She held   
the moist fingertips before him and smiled sadly. "I knew before you   
knew," she told him. "You can't hide these from the Priestess of   
Water."  
  
"I never... meant to..." was all he could seem to get himself to say.  
  
She nodded. "It's okay," she said softly. "I'm not-"  
  
Icy cold slapped across his face before he even heard the door break.   
It was shattered before he'd looked up, replaced by a dark silhouette   
against the night sky.  
  
He moved reflexively, springing forward between it and Qawool. He felt   
a sharp crack against his shoulder and the room spun until a wall hit   
him. The room was at an angle to him now, but he saw Qawool was   
already to her feet, lamp ready. A blast of water flew from her hand,   
arced backwards and hit the wall behind her. The lamp exploded on her   
wrist, fragments flying everywhere. Qawool clutched at her wrist and   
looked to see if Makoto was all right. Mistake.  
  
The jet of inky black water hit her square in the chest. Her knees   
buckled back over the end of the bed and she hit the mattress. The   
momentum carried her back, drudging up the blanket beneath her until   
they both slammed against the wall.  
  
Makoto staggered to his feet hurriedly, but fumbled for his balance.   
The figure turned to him and paused, eerily still. It remained   
stationary, silently watching him as he steadied himself against the   
wall. He could still feel the cold sting through his nightshirt where   
it had struck him.  
  
From where he stood, the light from the doorway at his right was   
projected solely on him, while the figure remained lost in the   
darkness. The intruder was small: an inch or two shorter than himself,   
and impossibly thin. Its legs were little more than sticks hinged   
together. A subtle creaking came from it as it moved, slowly, towards   
him. It was covered in dingy fabric. Scraps clung to its frame here   
and there, the rest billowed about it with every stray gust of wind   
from the door. As it moved closer, he saw its skin through its   
tattered shirt, white as a skeleton and containing little else. The   
shredded rags it was draped in seemed at once familiar to him, as if   
beneath the layers of dirt and grime...  
  
"Hello, Makoto," said its hauntingly light voice. Its head came into   
view. The matted, pale hair that hung limply to rest on its shoulders   
was pulled back from its face. The face itself was pulled back as   
well, tightly; exposing the structure of the skull for all to see. The   
eyes deep in its sockets were wide and livid, but far from unthinking.   
Eyes he knew too well.  
  
"...ifurita?"  
  
His eyes blinked involuntarily. For one horrible second he thought she   
might be gone when he opened them. That this might be some dream or   
nightmare. But she was still there, just the same as she had been when   
they closed. Ifurita. She looked emaciated, yet not weak. His   
shoulder ached. Not weak at all. Why had she-  
  
"You're looking well," she said, letting her eyes roll in their sockets   
to the bed, where Qawool was struggling to right herself. "Doing well,   
also."  
  
Makoto's gut wrenched in his chest. He felt the sting of his own   
betrayal, just as painfully as she must. Suddenly her entrance made   
perfect sense to him. But all at once that sting became a rush of joy.   
Because she was here to feel it. Because she was here, period. Alive.   
Speaking to him. Breathing the same air, seeing the same things as he   
saw them. They were together. He was together with Her. He stepped   
forward, arms wide, willfully ignoring the pain in his shoulder.   
Because it was Her.  
  
"Drop your arms or I'll rip them off," she said evenly.  
  
Makoto stopped with a reflexive choke. He should have expected that.   
Most of him _had_ expected that, it had merely indulged the hopeful   
part of him. But the rest of him would take over now, now that he   
could see. He had failed her. He had given up on her. He had   
abandoned her. She had more than enough right. More than enough.  
  
He lowered his arms, keeping his eyes fixed on her. They were locked   
there, he couldn't have looked away if he wanted to. Alive, the   
thought repeated itself. It was the only one he could hold on to. She   
was Alive.   
  
"You...you're alive..." he choked through his tears.  
  
Her skull-like head inclined an inch, rustling the clumps of hair that   
matted it. "Thought I should be dead by now?" she said plainly. It   
was an accusation.  
  
It cut him savagely. "I thought... you would be," he said with   
tremendous difficulty, "But I never... *never* wanted you to-"  
  
"No, you never cared either way, did you? Don't bother to contradict   
me, I remember what a charming liar you are. And so help me, if you   
tell me you've seen my heart, I'll show you what's left of your   
bedwarmer's," she looked at Qawool, gaze fixing the other girl to the   
spot.  
  
Makoto's eyes widened. "What are you-"  
  
The icy fist caught him square in the neck. The impact there seemed to   
shudder through his entire body before it knocked him to the ground.  
  
He looked up, dazed. "Ifurita..?"  
  
"Get up," said the pale figure. He complied, the entirety of his right   
side now aching in pain. She watched him, cold eyes taking in his   
every wincing movement.  
  
"Was that painful, Makoto?" her wispy, clear voice asked. "You'd think   
it was, wouldn't you? You're inexperienced. No, that's not real pain.   
Real pain is clawing your way out of an underground mausoleum, into   
some strange alien world you barely know about, waiting for someone to   
come and get you out of there. You think you know the place, you think   
you're prepared for it. But that was just a dream, a vision. A   
hallucination. It's nothing like the deluge of sights and sounds and   
smells on your senses after ten thousand years of Absolute Nothingness.   
You pull back, draw into yourself as much as you can to avoid it all.   
And for a while, it works.  
  
"But you're not there for just a while. You wait, and you wait, and   
you wait. You see all the colors of the sky and hear all the animals   
that move around out there, and you try your best to cope with them.   
And it gets easier after a while, because you're going blind and deaf.   
You're dying. And you wait some more. You wait hopefully, then   
fearfully, and finally desperately. Your eyesight goes, then your   
hearing, and pretty soon all you have left is touch. Touch enough to   
feel when your limbs give out and you drop to the ground, paralyzed.   
  
"Then your lungs start forgetting to work, you miss a breath here or   
there. You get light-headed, and that's when you _really_ think he's   
coming. In fact, maybe you're already home. Maybe you never even left   
to begin with. Maybe the last ten thousand years were all a dream, and   
he stopped you from leaving in the first place. Maybe he realized he   
could just stop the Eye, learn its secrets, send you to Earth ten _days_  
in the past, and have you _lie_ to him. That makes a _lot_ more sense   
than what's happening to you now, since you _know_ he would never leave   
you out here, alone, to die like you're dying now.  
  
"Then the lungs really start failing, and wouldn't you know, you're not   
quite giddy enough to keep from noticing the pain. Your chest is   
screaming, straining itself to get air, sucking it down like liquid   
fire when it can and crushing itself when it can't. And you can't see   
it, but you know your heart is pumping thick molten lead through your   
veins, and it hurts so much you just want it to be over. You want it   
to be over so badly. And the funniest thing of it all is, you ask the   
person responsible to forgive _you_. Because you honestly think he's   
going to show up the moment after you die, you stupid, pathetic fool.  
  
"Only you don't die. You get to live. Feeling like this. For hours   
and hours and hours. And it doesn't stop. You don't know why, but it   
doesn't stop. You lie there, wheezing wispy gasps of air and screaming   
inside, but you _don't_ _die_. THAT is PAIN."  
  
Makoto stared at her through his tears, his face a mask of anguish.   
"I... I didn't m-mean, I..." he gasped, "I... I'm s-so sor..."  
  
"You will understand if I'm not particularly empathetic to _your_   
distress just now," her voice hissed through the dark. "Or ever, for   
that matter."  
  
Makoto wiped his eyes and slowly nodded. "I... don't deserve..." He   
closed his eyes. She hated him. Ifurita hated him. Rightly so.   
But... But that was all right. She was alive, wasn't she? That was   
what was important. She was Alive. "Ifurita... what happened?" he   
asked, his eyes drying, "I mean, how? H-how did you survive?"  
  
"Curiosity, even now?" she half-sneered.  
  
"I... I just wanted to..." he swallowed hard, forced some composure   
into his voice, "I'm sorry. If you don't want to tell me, you have   
every right. I was only..."  
  
"No," she said, eyes sharp, "You should hear this. You should know.   
It takes a little longer for the spring to wind down than you thought.   
That last ounce of power, it runs you for a few days. Just enough   
power to lie there in that paralyzed agony until they come to carry you   
away. They carry you away to a lab somewhere, open up your insides,   
find a way to keep you ticking. Find a way to keep the spring turning.   
Find a way to put you to use for them. Your people are a lot more   
resourceful than you give them credit for."  
  
"They... my people did this..?" Makoto couldn't hide his amazement,   
though in retrospect he probably should have tried.  
  
Ifurita nodded, cold eyes glaring. "Do you know, when I was   
waiting to meet you, dreaming of you, I swore to myself I'd never harm   
anyone again? I swore I'd rather die. I'd rather die in agony, like I   
was going to before they found me. I swore it, and I -meant- it...   
But, oh, they can do things to you, if they know you're tough enough to   
survive them..." her voice shook with a quiet fury, "They can do things   
to you... to change your mind... They can do things to your... to your   
body... They really are a lot more resourceful than you give them   
credit for.  
  
"I did it. I killed for them. I blew up tiny little towns and cities   
and nations. They fought back, but their defenses just made me   
stronger, same as ever. When I wasn't needed they locked me back up.   
Kept me in reserve. Just as long as the spring kept turning. They   
kept it turning I don't know how long. Once you've been asleep   
for ten millennia a handful of centuries go by like *that*. I must   
have changed hands, changed masters, changed sides, I can't really say   
how many times. Can't really say that I cared.  
  
"And then it was over. Your world, I mean. My masters got into a   
squabble with the descendants of my former masters and they pushed some   
buttons. I was out there in the middle of it when it happened. There   
was a soft sound, and I saw the Earth's crust turn to vapor beneath my   
feet. I felt the gravity push and pull on me in every direction.   
There was darkness for a while, and when I could see clearly again   
there was a smoldering ball of dust looping endlessly around a yellow   
star. I watched it for a while. It was quiet, and almost beautiful.  
  
"After they were all dead, there was finally enough time. Enough time   
to gather my energy and no one to order me not to. I could finally   
come back here." Her eyes came coldly to rest on Qawool once more. "And   
find this."  
  
Makoto falteringly looked to Qawool and then to her. "It isn't- her   
fault-" he tried to explain.  
  
"Of course not," her eyes shot rusted daggers at Qawool, "Well, I'd   
love to say I'm surprised, but after you left me there, left me to all   
of that, I'm really not."  
  
Makoto forced his eyes shut. He couldn't talk about this right now.   
He just... He had to make sure. Make sure she was okay. Yes, that was   
the first thing to do. That was the important thing. That was what he   
had to do right now. Her body looked like it was in bad shape, even if   
she didn't act like it. There were things that had to be done about   
that, weren't there? Like what?  
  
The spring.  
  
"How long do you have, be- before the spring winds down?" he asked,   
"Does it wind by itself, now, or-"  
  
"The spring already stopped."  
  
He looked at her in shock.  
  
"Oh, yes," she said, a sickly amused expression on her drawn face, "It   
stopped a good while ago. But all those adaptations, upgrades, refits,   
everything they did to me, to preserve my technological side, it worked   
too well. My body can't die, you see. Even when my organic side has   
been going so long it just can't keep together anymore, even when my   
organs have shut down, even when my brain has flatlined and I'm coming   
apart _bit_ by microscopic _bit_, my soul stays jammed snugly in here.   
And you know what the worst part is? My soul, it senses things more   
keenly than my brain ever did."  
  
Makoto stared at her, wide-eyed, desperately trying to understand what   
this meant, while another part of himself was desperate to keep him   
from doing so. Ifurita settled the conflict for him.  
  
"I can feel myself *rotting*, Makoto," she seethed. "My organs have   
shriveled into blackened, decaying husks. My blood has congealed into   
tar. My bones are grinding each other to powder _inch_ by _inch_ and I   
feel Every Waking _Second_ Of It!"  
  
"But this body, it doesn't _die_. I even used your power on it once,   
tried to shut it down. Didn't work. They did something to it and now I   
can't shut it down. And how else am I supposed to die? Throw anything   
at me and I just absorb it, because I am an Indestructible Demon God   
and that's what makes me a Perfect Weapon!"  
  
She... She was... She... Makoto's mind refused to accept it all. He   
couldn't allow himself to comprehend what she must be going through,   
what she must be feeling right now. In his current state, it would   
only crush him. He couldn't allow that, not now. Not now when she   
might need him. He had to concentrate on that now, on what he could do   
for her. He had to concentrate on that.  
  
And that would mean... Helping her would mean...  
  
It wasn't fair, it...  
  
No. It was. It was fair. It was fair to her. After what she'd been   
through, she deserved to have what she...   
  
But, maybe, he could change her mind? Maybe. He had to. If he could   
find a way to repair what had been done, to restore her, then she   
might... If he could end the pain without ending her...  
  
Fresh tears traced his cheeks. He spoke hesitantly. "Ifurita, if...   
if you want to d-"  
  
"Oh, I'm *well* past that phase," she cut him off and relief adorned   
his face. "I have a reason to live again, you see."  
  
She slammed an arm forward and her cold claw-hand lifted him off the   
ground by his windpipe.  
  
"Revenge."  
  
She held Makoto's throat in this bony vise, his trembling fingers   
clutching at it to keep the grip from choking him. All it would take   
was a little pressure from her, he realized, and those fingers would be   
crushed along with his neck. Bone or flesh, with her strength,   
everything in her grasp would be mashed with a quick, sharp squeeze.  
  
He couldn't speak. There was hardly any air getting to him. He could   
barely concentrate enough to keep his fingers in place, let alone   
enough to try to reach her with his power, talk to her that way. Never   
mind squeezing, he realized, all she would need to do would be to hold   
him here, suspended like a great puppet until his eyes rolled back   
and...  
  
Qawool. She would try to help again, she'd be in danger. He forced   
himself to look to his side, to the bed, trying to ignore the freezing   
grip on his neck. Qawool was steadying herself, he could see,   
preparing to make a move for them. She was obviously terrified, but   
unable stand by while this was happening. Makoto looked to her,   
catching her eye, and motioned her to stay still. She didn't appear to   
agree.  
  
The hand let go and the ground slammed at his knees. Thank God. She'd   
stay where she was, now. He gasped raggedly for air as Ifurita spoke.  
  
"I'm going to kill you, Makoto," her low voice was now less than a   
whisper. "Not tonight, not just yet, but I am going to kill you."  
  
"But... why..." he wheezed, knowing full well how foolish that would   
sound. He had to elaborate, but his throat wanted to close up on him.   
He put his battered knees to work and got to his feet. "What...   
why...?"  
  
"Because it will bring me joy," she said, "Because joy brings me relief   
from the pain."  
  
No, this... it couldn't be. She wouldn't... would she..? "Ifurita..."   
he said haltingly, "I... am so sorry I failed you..."  
  
"Your *apologies* won't change the last eleven thousand years of my   
life, will they?" she indicated her painfully decomposing form, "They  
won't change *this*!"  
  
"But..." he forced himself to continue, "There... there has to be   
another way, a better way than... You- you don't have to do this,   
Ifurita."  
  
"Don't I?" she said, voice raised, her bony limbs shaking in anger and   
pain, "What else *can* I do? What else *is* there?! *Look* at me!"  
  
"I'll... find a way to heal you.... I'll find out what they did to you   
and I'll-"  
  
"Like you figured out the Eye of God?"  
  
He ignored the fresh wound. Tried to, at least. "I won't... I won't   
fail you again. I'll do it. Somehow, I'll find a way."  
  
The ribcage visible through her ripped shirt trembled, and a choppy   
whistling came from her teeth. Laughter. "How?" she asked mockingly,   
"How will you do that?"  
  
"I don't know how... But there must be a way, there *has* to be a way,"   
he said desperately, "I won't fail you again, I... I'd rather-"  
  
"Die?" Ifurita's eyes gleamed. Her gaze froze on Qawool once more.   
"Tell me," she asked the terrified girl, "Do you know what blind faith   
is?"  
  
Qawool shivered violently and tried to stutter a response.  
  
"It is believing that whatever you want, is what will be," Ifurita   
answered for her, "It's avarice. That is a trait I've seen in the eyes   
of a hundred men and women who've controlled me. Destroyers,   
conquerors, fascists, nihilists, and lunatics - I saw it in all of   
them. But never - *never* as purely as I've seen it in the eyes of   
your owner here.  
  
"'I can free you.'" she spat, "'I can find a way to rescue you'. 'I   
can tell you how to live your life.' 'You should live like I tell you   
to, you should try to be free.' That's why I went into the Eye, you   
know. Freedom."  
  
"H- He tried to stop you..." Qawool said tremblingly, "You- you went on   
your ow-"  
  
"As if I had a *choice*!" Ifurita shouted. She glared at Makoto. "It   
was stop the Eye or never would have been freed from that damned island   
to begin with, remember?! I had to go or I'd never be *free*! That   
was what you told me, that my *freedom* was so damned important! And   
what has *freedom* given me? Ten thousand years of aching loneliness,   
_centuries_ of torment and a LIVING DEATH! All because of you,   
Makoto... All because of you."  
  
Makoto felt as though a granite slab was being lowered onto his   
shoulders. He'd been so sure of himself, hadn't he? All of this,   
everything she'd accused him of, it was all true. She was right, he   
reflected as the crushing weight pushed down upon him. She was right   
about everything.  
  
No... No, she was almost right. He knew she was wrong about one   
thing. He knew he'd always loved her. He knew because he still did.  
  
Her eyes were small and malicious now. "You should see some of the   
things I'm capable of now, Makoto. Oh, yes. You should see all the   
things your people used against me. I could create a nuclear explosion   
the size of my choice just outside Floristica, if I wanted to. Not   
large enough to destroy the city, just enough to taint everyone with   
its poison. Let them die of wasting and burning inside. I could exude   
an engineered virus from my pores, let it go airborne and let people   
breathe it in, let them choke to death as they vomit up blood and their   
flesh is eaten away. Your people are so proficient with their weapons,   
Makoto, and now I know them all. I'm going to use them on you, Makoto.   
As many as I can, before your body finally gives out."  
  
She moved back, keeping her eyes fixed on him as she slowly retreated   
back into the darkness. "But first... I'm going to practice. I'm   
going to use my dimensional ability to visit other universes, other   
realities. There are so many, do you know? I'll visit worlds where   
you're happy with Nanami, or Rune, or Shayla. Worlds where you're a   
tyrant and Jinnai is a saint, and I'll be hailed as a hero for killing   
you. Worlds where you're a Prince or a Prime Minister, and society   
will crumble into chaos because you've died. I'll kill you so many   
times in so many ways, and all your friends besides. And then I'll   
raze them all to the ground. I am immortal, and I am all-powerful. No   
matter how many aeons it takes, I'll seek out every universe with you   
in it, every universe with Nanami, or Fujisawa, or Jinnai, and I will   
kill each one of them.   
  
"But I wanted to stop by here, first. I wanted you to _know_. Let all   
of it sit on your shoulders as you sleep with your young whore there.   
All of them will die because of *you*."  
  
"And what about the worlds where I've succeeded?" Makoto asked.  
  
Ifurita's eyes flickered in the darkness. "What?"  
  
"If there are as many worlds as you say, there will be worlds where I   
succeeded," he said, his voice evening as he spoke, "Where I got to you   
in time, like I promised. Like I should have. Like you deserved.   
What will you do to me in those worlds?"  
  
"Nothing," she said, finally. "I'll kill my counterpart instead."  
  
"That isn't nothing," Makoto said, a mournful wisdom in his eyes. "If   
he feels as I feel, you'll destroy him by doing that. Knowing you're   
gone, knowing he'll never see you again... He won't know what to do.   
He'll feel like everything's shattered inside. Like he's just a bunch   
of pieces just thrown together, in a body. And even... Even when   
someone comes along, tries to help him fit everything together again...   
It won't add up. It'll never add up right. He'll have lost himself."   
Makoto looked at her sadly. "But I guess you know what that's like.   
You've lost yourself, too."   
  
He began to walk forward, following her into the dark.  
  
"Don't come near me, Makoto," she warned.  
  
"Why not?" he stepped towards her, "You already said you were going to   
kill me eventually."  
  
"I don't have to kill you, to _hurt_ you. Or better yet," she pointed   
her wizened fingers at Qawool and a crackle of light flared around   
them. "I can kill your beloved slut, here."  
  
Makoto looked at Qawool. She nodded once. He took another step   
towards Ifurita and calmly shook his head. "I don't think you will,   
though."  
  
"You don't think I can kill somebody I don't know?" her ribcage   
trembled again, "What do you think I've been _doing_ these past   
centuries? How many people have I killed? How hard do you think it'll   
be to add one more to the pile?"  
  
"Very," he said, taking a step toward her, "In fact, I think it would   
be impossible."  
  
Ifurita voice betrayed a hint of surprise. "What are you talking   
about?"  
  
"You were forced to kill those people, Ifurita. Nobody's forcing you   
to do anything, now. And I know, no matter how angry you are, you   
don't really want to kill anyone. After what you've seen, what they   
made you do, you think it's what you should want. You think, after   
doing something for so long, even something so horrible, you'd have to   
enjoy it. But you don't. You hate it even more."  
  
He took a step forward.  
  
"All you want, all you've always wanted... is what I nearly took from   
you when I failed you. You want to be like us, like anybody else. I   
know, I've seen it. You want to have all the things that we have,   
friends, a life, a family... to not be a weapon anymore. To stop   
having to destroy."  
  
He took another step forward.  
  
"That's why I know you won't hurt me, or her. You can't. Not because   
you love me - I know you don't. But because you hate what you would   
become."  
  
"What I AM, Makoto," she said forcefully, "Don't try to deny it. Don't   
try to force your pathetic optimism on me anymore. I'm a killer. A   
mass-murdering weapon of death!"  
  
"Not yet," Makoto took one more step forward, "Not if you don't choose   
to be."  
  
"Well I _choose_ to be!" she almost shrieked. "You said I was free, I   
am free. I do this of my own choice. I do it because I _feel_ like   
it. Because it will bring me joy. Because _joy_ brings me _relief_   
from the _pain_," she grit her teeth in determination, "I am an   
Unstoppable Demon God and this is what I do! It's the one thing, the   
*only* thing, that I am GOOD FOR anymore! It's what you made me,   
Makoto! It's who I am now!"  
  
"You don't really believe that," he took a final step, and stood calmly   
before her, "No matter how horrible things were, no matter how much you   
tried to pretend otherwise, you've never wanted to be that. You've   
always kept your heart alive, no matter how painful it was to do so.   
That... is one of the things I love most about you."  
  
Ifurita looked him in the eyes, gaunt features locked in defiance.   
"Things have changed," she said. "You may have understood me once, you   
may have seen the way I thought and felt before, but that was a _very_   
long time ago. Let me assure you, I _have_ changed. I _have_."  
  
"Have you?" His eyes trailed to his own hand for a moment,   
thoughtfully. He raised it and held it out before her. "Then prove it   
to me."  
  
Her lips twisted into a ugly smile. "You want to see what's inside   
me? You want to know what it's _like_ in here?"  
  
"Yes," he said, "I do. If there's a chance, any chance at all that I   
can reach you, make you see-"  
  
"There is not." She extended her pale and skeletal hand before him. "But   
if you really want to know what I feel, to Suffer what I Suffer, by All   
means, do. After all..."  
  
"I deserve it," Makoto finished, and took her hand.  
  
Their world went black.  
  
***  
  
From the bed, Qawool was watching.  
  
Makoto and Ifurita stood perfectly still, Makoto holding the skeletal   
woman's hand. He'd taken her hand and the two of them had frozen in   
place, and now Qawool was the only one who could move. The only one   
who could see or hear or feel the outside world. The only one who   
could do anything to affect it. And she was sitting here and watching.  
  
When Makoto had taken Ifurita's hand, for the briefest second she had   
thought to attack, to strike while Ifurita was in the merge. Catch her   
unaware. But what could she do without her lamp? Even with it, the   
demon goddess had beaten her easily.  
  
She had to go for help, she realized. She had to tell everyone, get   
them to gather a force capable of stopping Ifurita. She had to get   
them to call the other Ifurita, the one in the desert Makoto had told   
her about. She had to go now, while this Ifurita was distracted. She   
had to leave here right away, while she had the chance. She had to   
leave. She had to abandon Makoto here with this woman who wanted to   
kill him.  
  
She kept watching.  
  
It went on for a minute, maybe two. She had to count each second out   
to keep track, remind herself it hadn't been hours. Then the hand   
around Ifurita's twitched, and Makoto removed it, stumbling back.   
Qawool moved to steady him, but then Ifurita's eyes snapped into focus   
and Qawool froze.  
  
Ifurita was watching Makoto as he looked at her, steadying himself on   
his feet. Slowly, impossibly, a smile faded into existence on her   
lips. Her eyes softened. She nodded.  
  
All at once she doubled over. Makoto stood stark still in shock. She   
hit the ground at his feet, hard.   
  
Falteringly, he knelt beside her, still off-balance on his own feet.   
She looked up at him, crumpled on her side still smiling, eyes still   
holding that inexplicable kindness.  
  
"Body... wasn't so resilient... after all..." she whispered, "Was...   
hatred... that kept it... But I... I don't hate... So sorry... I..."  
  
Makoto's face was pained, shocked. He reached down, fumbling and  
afraid. He touched her hand fearfully, lifting it with impossible   
ease. It looked to be paper-light, and nearly as fragile. He held the   
bony digits as they trembled at the tips, then cast another glance at   
her clouding eyes and choked.   
  
He seized the hand and gripped it tightly, screwing his eyes shut. He   
opened them again and shoved the hand to his chest, biting his lip in   
concentration. Ifurita rocked her head from side to side on the floor.   
No.  
  
"*Please*..." he wheezed.  
  
"I... love..." she spoke softly, her eyes dulled. Her body twitched,   
once or twice, and settled quietly to the ground. Unmoving.  
  
Makoto remained there, shaking with sudden and uncontrollable sobs. He  
placed the hand down and reached lightly for her face. "I... I didn't   
mean..." he choked, "You know... You... you knew I didn't mean... I   
didn't wa... want..."  
  
Qawool approached him quietly. She knelt beside him, placed a hand on   
his shoulder. "Makoto," she said tenderly.  
  
He shot back, scuttled across the floor away from her. He looked at   
her, eyes wide and bloodshot, trying desperately to speak.  
  
Qawool was surprised, but unhurt. She reached out a hand to him. He   
shrunk further away from her.  
  
"I... I'm so sorry..." he started, nearly suffocating on his own words.   
"This... I... It... "  
  
"Makoto," she said, moving towards him.  
  
"STAY BACK!" He curled up against the wall, horrified. He looked at   
his own hands, face streaked with tears. "You don't... You don't   
understand... You don't UNDERSTAND... This isn't what I... I was... it   
wasn't... I... shouldn't have..."   
  
He looked up at her, and weakly moved one hand to point at Ifurita's   
body. "You don't understand..." he wept, in a hoarse, pained whisper.   
"HE did this..."  
  
Qawool's eyes widened. She looked back, back at Ifurita's body. Back   
at the body that had died. And then back to the body that hadn't.  
  
Within Makoto's body, Ifurita looked at Makoto's hands. Looked at them   
with Makoto's eyes. She looked at the world from within Makoto's body.   
From within his painless, healthy, Human body. The body he'd given   
her.   
  
His eyes saw for her. His ears heard for her. His lungs breathed for her.  
  
And in his chest, though he was gone, his heart beat for her still.  
  
  
End  
  
---  
  
El-Hazard was created by Hiroki Hayashi and Ryoe Tsurimura and is the   
property of AIC and Pioneer Entertainment. 


End file.
